


Hatikvah

by xahra99



Series: Monster Ballads [4]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angels, British Character, British Military, British Slang, Canon Jewish Character, Complete, Gen, Gen Work, Jewish Character, Medical, Prequel, Trench Warfare, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 03:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20418866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xahra99/pseuds/xahra99
Summary: It’s the first month of the war, and Alfie Solomons is fed up of this shit already.Alfie Solomons bullshits the Angel of Mons. Prequel. Gen. Complete.





	Hatikvah

_Mons, 1914._

It’s the first month of the war, and Alfie Solomons is fed up of this shit already.

They pull back across the river, outnumbered three to one. Alfie loses his unit early on day two. He hopes they’re in a better place. He doubts it. He picks his way from ditch to trench to crater, followed by a small entourage of soldiers who clearly think Alfie is mad but have decided that sticking with him is their best chance of making it out alive. They’re all covered in mud and armed to the teeth. On paper it’s called _retiring in good order_.

From the ground, it looks like hell.

Alfie’s passed a dozen wounded men when he hears a voice raised in prayer. The litany is nothing new. The staccato rattle of machine guns drifts in bursts over the canal. Shells explode overhead as inhuman howls echo through the fields. It’s enough to make any man turn his thoughts towards the Lord. Alfie’s heard men begging to their gods, their mothers, and their friends.

But he recognizes this prayer. He’s used it himself.

“_Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam_-”

Alfie makes his way over to where the Jew is lying. In the sodden dark, he sees a figure crouched with his back against a heap of logs piled at the end of a makeshift trench. His uniform is soaked with mud, and Alfie can’t make out his unit. He hunkers down best he can next to the logs. “_Shalom_, brother.”

The man looks up, slowly. His face is pale and his dark eyes resemble a skull. “_Shalom_.”

Alfie glances back to make sure the privates following him have all found cover. They have. He didn’t ask for them to come, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let them die on purpose. He turns back to the Jewish soldier and lays a large grimy hand on his shoulder. The man’s skin is cool and clammy. “What you doin’ sayin’ funeral prayers in this forsaken place, mate? Not dead yet, eh?”

“Nah,” The man’s grin is more of a grimace. “But I’m gettin’ there.”

A shell bursts near the trench. Alfie ducks as earth spatters his helmet. Once the fire dies down a bit he inches forwards to get a better look. He doesn’t dare strike a light, but he can see a fair bit in the sporadic bursts of the shells. “We’ll find you help,” he says. Pity none of his kit’s clean enough to make a bandage, but maybe the privates or someone has something. “I’m gonna get you out of here if I ‘ave to schlep you the whole fucking way.”

“Not much choice.” the man mutters. “We’re all dead. All fucking dead. Just I know it. You don’t. Not yet.”

“Now, mate.” Alfie reproves. “Can’t leave one of God’s chosen in this godforsaken wasteland, can I?”

The injured soldier coughs. A wet trickle runs down his chin and soaks into the collar of his coat. The liquid is alternately red and black in the strobing light. “_Meshuggener,_” he groans.

Its not the first time Alfie’s been called crazy. As the rifle-fire around them intensifies until he thinks it’s not just him but the whole world that’s gone mad. This brief delay will cost them. Right now, he doesn’t care. Maybe he will later, but later is later.

“Right then,” he says. “Let’s be ‘avin’ you.”

He unbuttons the soldier’s jacket and pulls the fabric open to get a better look, exploring tentatively. The next flash that comes is bright as day, revealing wet red flesh. Alfie smells bile and blood, a sickly sweetness that, in other circumstances, might make him gag. When he presses on the wound, it crackles. He sits back on his heels and folds the coat back in. “Put that away, mate.”

The soldier groans.

Alfie’s seen this before. Done it himself. This _kolboynick_ is gut-shot, a bullet drilled clean through into his belly. His death ain’t gonna be nice or quick or pretty. The best he can hope for is for a German soldier to find him and finish him off. There ain’t anything Alfie can do about it, even if he were to find a first aid post. He doesn’t even know if there _are_ any first aid posts out here. But he does know how to help.

He goes to lift the man. The soldier recoils and raises his pale palms like white flags. “What are y’ doin’?” he slurs.

Alfie casts round for something to take the wounded soldier’s mind off what he is about to do. You’d think that being shot at would be enough, but the man’s suspicious, and with good cause. As Alfie inches forwards, he moves back. If he goes any further they’ll both be out the fucking trench and Alfie does not rate their chances there one bit.

“Don’t worry about it, right?” he says, hunching his shoulders and trying to look small and inoffensive. “Always clumsy, me. Like a big old bear.” He sniffs the air, smells blood and earth and cordite. “Probably smell like one too.”

The wounded soldier’s eyes are wide with alarm. Alfie’s approach is not having the calming effect he had hoped for. He sighs and leans back on his heels.

“Look at the sky,” he says. “Ain’t it beautiful?”

And for a moment, it is. The searchlights shine like Christmas morning, like the hands of God. Shells burst like golden fireworks. Explosions glitter on the water. It’s enough to make Alfie forget that everybody’s trying to kill him, and this time he doesn’t even fucking deserve it.

He puts a hand on the soldier’s shoulder, and this time he doesn’t flinch away. “Can you see those lights?”

The soldier looks up. Shellbursts glitter in his eyes. Alfie looks up too, right beside him. After all, if a shell bursts overhead it doesn’t matter if they’re looking up or not, they’re fucking dead either way.

“Fucking biblical,” Alfie says softly. The thought reminds him of sabbath-school, so he continues. “Says it right there. Says the lord will send his angels. Can you see them?”

The soldier gazes, eyes, and mouth wide. Alfie moves closer. He raises the wounded man’s left arm and sets his hand on his shoulder. The soldier’s skin is cold and clammy. “Can you see those fucking angels?”

The soldier nods.

“Shining bright,” Alfie says softly. “Like a fucking tea tray in the sky.” He tucks the flap of the man’s jacket back and raises him slightly with his right hand like he’s gonna carry him. His knee slips in the mud, and he takes a moment to steady himself. “Ain’t nothing gonna hurt you, not with those around.”

He frees the trench knife from his belt with his left hand. Good thing he’s ambidextrous. To distract the soldier from what he’s doing he raises his voice and points at the sky. “Can you see those fucking angels, lads?”

The privates crouched behind him in the trench glance at each other and keep silent. Alfie isn’t having that. “Can you see those fucking angels?” he repeats.

They look at Alfie like he’s gone mental, eyes rolling like sick horses. One nods, and then they all agree in a ragged chorus that’s accompanied by a fusillade of nods. “Captain.”

“Yessir. Angels.”

“Yes, captain.”

“Fair beautiful, they are.”

Alfie stares at them. Then he realises he’s gesturing with the hand holding the knife and hastily lowers his arm. He needn’t worry. The wounded soldier’s gaze is fixed firmly on the sky.

Alfie hopes to God he’s seeing something better than what’s there. On the opposite side of the canal the Germans flood the valley like a tide.

“Yeah, he says softly as he positions the knife. “Angels.”

In the bursts of the shells he can almost see them himself. The sky is full of angels. They’re twenty feet tall with long sorrowful faces. Their robes are phosphor-white, their wide wings raised above them. Their outstretched hands hold back the German lines.

“Fucking angels,” he says, and sinks the knife home.

The soldier barely blinks. He sighs as he slumps to the ground, grey intestines spilling out as his body finally relaxes. The guns fall silent for a long moment. The sky is dark. The angels are all gone. Alfie’s kneeling in a muddy trench with a corpse at his feet, and the Germans are coming. Angels ain’t gonna save them now. He has to save himself. There’s just one thing he must do first.

Alfie bows his head. “_Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam, dayan ha-emet.”_ he recites, and rips his sleeve. Then he turns back to the privates and spits on the ground in the Germans’ general direction.

“Come on lads,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

_“As long as within our hearts_

_The Jewish soul sings_

_As long as onward to the east_

_To Zion looks the eye._

_Our hope is not yet lost.”_

-_Hatikvah_ (Hope), Napthali Herz Imber (1886)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a visit to the Imperial War Museum at Duxford (and its most excellent WW1 gallery), an interview with Tom Hardy when he mentioned Alfie Solomons being like a bear, a podcast about the history surrounding the myth of the Angel of Mons, and the tale of a group of Jews singing the inspiring song Hatikvah (now the Israeli national anthem) as they were marched into a concentration camp. Historically, it’s unlikely that a Jewish gangster would have been present at the Battle of Mons, the first major conflict in the First world war in France, as the British troops involved were mainly the professional soldiers of the British Expeditionary Force, but hey. The prayer both Alfie and the nameless wounded soldier recite is, as far as I can be sure, a Jewish prayer recited when hearing news of a death and is accompanied by the rending of garments. I’m not Jewish, though like most Brits I had relatives in both the First and Second world wars. My intention was not to disrespect, and any mistakes are entirely my own.


End file.
